Seasons in the Sun
by Gabi-hime
Summary: Oujiro & Misaki Kaede & Sai -- Four years after the third National Angelic Layer tournament, the grand circuit deuses of Angelic Layer finally leave their fields of gold. Updated with Chapter Three.
1. Prologue

_Seasons in the Sun _

Part Zero of Five

By Gabi-hime (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

Spoilers: The end of Angelic Layer TV

Pairings: Misaki/Oujiro, Shuuko/Icchan, Tamayo/Koutaro, Kaede/Sai, Ringo/Clary, although primarily Misaki Oujirou and Kaede/Sai

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Four years after the third National Angelic Layer tournament, the grand circuit deuses of Angelic Layer finally leave their fields of gold.

A/N: This fanfic assumes an international tournament took place the fall after the third national tournament. While I may eventually go back and write the international tournament fic (if only for the Brit deuses, whom I love) at the moment I've put it off because it doesn't involve any really major character development, just fun hijinks. The only character from the international tournament who actually comes back to Japan with them is Clary Dogtown, the dweeby American deus of Calamity Jane, and he's only a minor character in this story so you really shouldn't worry about him too much c_c. This fic also assumes a continuity with my other Chobits and Angelic Layer fanfics, although they probably aren't necessary for enjoying this story. If you like the way I write, I dunno why you don't go and read the others c_c. For those curious, the prologue happens less than a year after the end of Angelic Layer TV. The rest of the series will be happened four years later. Also, if you're trying to figure out exactly how my fics fit into a continuity, I'll try and provide you with a map. (1)Of Waltzes and Waiting, (2)Public Relations, (3)A Snowball's Chance, (4)You'll Find the Quickest Way, (5) Mystical Unwritten International Tournament Fic, (6) Seasons in the Sun, (7)And Miles to Go Before I Sleep, (8)Love in the Age of Intelligent Machines. Anyway, enough random prattle and onto the prologue.

------------------------------------------

_Four Years Previous_

Hamasaki Etsuko leaned forward over the lip of the layer, her hands so tight on the edge that her knuckles turned white with the strain. The headset was loose on her head. She hadn't quite known how to size it down and there wasn't any one around who didn't look very busy with much more important things. This was her first time to the National Tournament Ground Open Air Exhibition and it was also her first time trying out a real layer.

She'd had her angel, Pink, for months. She'd had her since her last birthday in fact, but her mother was always so busy that she'd never had time to take Etsuko to a Piffle Princess to learn how to control Pink on the layer. Besides, her mother had gently told her that she didn't think a kindergartner was ready for competition. Genius savant children like Kobayashi Hatoko were one thing, but for average kids like Etsuko, it was just another one of those mysterious and enticing rituals that would have to wait until she was "bigger," whenever that was. So Etsuko and Pink simply stayed at home and played on the carpet by her bed. She and Pink had gotten to be good friends and she loved the little angel. It was just the idea, the concept that Pink could move and walk on her own that kept at Etsuko, no matter what she tried . . .

So when her uncle, whom she very rarely saw, offered to take Etsuko along to the Open Air Exhibition she had jumped at the chance, if only to see the beautiful angels that she so raptly watched on tv in person. She hadn't dreamed that she'd actually get to try out a layer, but when a taller lady with an ID badge that identified her as exhibition staff had seen that she was carrying an angel in her arms, Etsuko had found herself on one of the dozens of temporary layers set up on the parade ground around the stadium before she could open her mouth to say thank you, like mama had always taught her to do. The lady had looked as if she were going to help Etsuko into her headset, but then she had been nearly dragged away by a flailing young man squalling something about a "chee-hu," whatever on earth that was.

Etsuko had been nervous about putting Pink onto the layer before she noticed that despite the fact that the parade ground was incredibly crowded absolutely no one was paying attention to her or her small rosey-hued angel. She'd seen her favorite Deuses throw their angels onto the layer countless times on her favorite television show 'Super Fighter Tech: Angelic Dancer,' but most of the time they glossed over the technical details and just went straight for the glitzy and often show-stopping entires. Etsuko had a hard time following the more complex aspects of the real life Angelic Layer technical shows and didn't watch them very often. Now she wished that she had. If she'd paid more attention then maybe she'd have known what to do instead of just blundering her way through it.

Now Pink was on the layer, but not very gracefully, face down with arms splayed. Etsuko desperately wished her uncle hadn't gone off looking for programs, because then she'd at least have an adult to ask for help, even an adult that didn't know that much about Angelic Layer. Etsuko was beginning to think that making Pink move was impossible, a feat better left up to bigger or smarter people. In desperation, she gritted her teeth hard and leaned forward, thinking as hard as she could about Pink moving around, not even realizing that she was holding her breath until it exploded out as she slumped forward, defeated.

She had very nearly given up when she felt the headset being lifted from her head.

"Here, let me help you. It's on too loose. If you don't watch out it might fall off," the voice was high-pitched, airy and very kind.

Etsuko turned around and nearly bumped into the older girl who was attempting to resize her headset, "I'm sorry! I didn't know how, or who to ask. I wasn't trying to break anything, I promise!"

The older girl (who was really not all that old at all) threw her hands up immediately, looking slightly panicked, "No, no, it's all right. I just came over to help you because you looked like you were trying very hard. I didn't know how to put on my headset the first time either," she smiled sheepishly, "Someone had to adjust it for me."

The other girl was so nice and unassuming that Etsuko managed a hint of a smile, "You were small too?"

The girl seemed somewhat surprised by this statement, "_Were_ small? I _am_ small," she smiled again reassuringly, raising a hand over her head to mark off her height which was several heads shorter than most of the surrounding crowd, "I haven't been playing for that long."

Etsuko shook her head as this other girl was much older than she was and thus obviously fit into the category of "bigger." Still, she pressed her point, looking back at her prone angel, "Then I can, even though I'm small? I can make Pink walk?"

The other girl leaned forward over Etsuko's shoulder and the child felt warmed by her presence, "Of course you can. On the layer, what matters isn't the size of your hands or your feet, it's the size of your heart. Pink won't stand up if all you think about is making her do it, but she will if you believe with all your heart that she will."

"Then all I have to do is believe in her? I can do that! I love Pink!" Etsuko leaned forward again excitedly, believing in the way only a child can believe, recklessly and without thought.

"You should always love and believe in Pink and then one day you'll realize that she'll always love and believe in you. Belief is the most powerful force in Angelic Layer. It doesn't matter how big you are, or how smart, as long as you love Pink and she loves you, you can do anything," the older girl reassured her, squeezing her shoulder for good measure.

"We can do anything," Etsuko breathed softly, and as a thought occurred to her she swiftly swiveled in her chair so she could catch a glimpse of the large screen which was constantly skipping through highlights of the national and international tournaments. She caught a glimpse of Hikaru, her favorite, in white-winged splendor folded against herself and spiraling through the a dark, jeweled sky. She turned back to the other girl and repeated herself, almost against hope, "Anything?"

"If you believe, then you can do anything," sighed the other girl dreamily, straightening up, "Even touch heaven."

"We can touch heaven," repeated Etsuko softly, gazing quietly at her angel, her partner, her Pink. They could do anything, even . . .

Suddenly an announcement over the loudspeakers shook both of the girls out of their dreamy state.

"Would the International Champion Suzuhara Misaki please report to the exhibition area for her match! The International Champion to the exhibition floor, please!"

The older girl's eyes widened and she jumped visibly, pulling her sleeve back to check her watch and finding it did not agree with her accounting of time at all, "Naa?!"

If the other girl's eyes widened then Etsuko's were like pie plates, her mouth hanging slightly slack as the situation realized itself in her mind. Later in her life she would think back at how ridiculous the first thought that had gone through her mind had been: Misaki didn't look or act anything like the actress that played her on television.

From somewhere in the crowd behind the newly recognized International Champion another girl appeared, one whom Etsuko immediately recognized as her favorite tv star, Seto Ringo.

"Misakichi, I've been looking all over for you! Everyone's waiting, we have to go!" the highly excitable blonde girl was hopping around as if she were possessed by a crack-fed weasel.

Suzuhara Misaki was so flustered by the idol singer's arrival that she let herself be dragged away with little protest. Before she was entirely engulfed in the crowd, she looked back over her shoulder at the small girl standing in the deus chair and staring open-mouthed after her and waved, calling, "Good luck!"

It took a full minute for Etsuko to recover from the shock of seeing her idol disappear into the crowd and it would likely have taken longer if she had not remembered Pink, still lying face down on the ground. She sat back in the deus chair, put on her headset, and took a long, deep breath and then believed.

And Pink slowly stood and smiled at her. 

*

Jounouchi Sai couldn't help but share a small smile with herself as she stood watching Misaki coach a small girl with long, dark hair from several paces away. Misaki had been talking with all of them about the importance of believing since Icchan had started her on more advanced trials of the system, trying to measure what was possible on the layer. Sai had to admit, even though she'd only sat in on one of these trials, if that was a sampling of what Misaki could do then her words about a lack of upper limits did have a ring of truth to them. Sai didn't know what the limitations of the system were, didn't even want to hazard a guess, but with Misaki backing the open horizon she felt she had to support it to some degree too. After all, a world where anything is possible is very enticing.

That night, Sai dreamt of the encounter again, only this time the little girl was Lin and Misaki was helping her teach Shirahime how to dance. She awoke to a flush of feathers in her periphery and as she hugged a pillow to her chest she could not help but repeat Misaki's honestly given words.

"If you believe, then you can do anything . . . even touch heaven."

*

  
  


  
  


  
  



	2. Something You'll Never Forget

_Seasons in the Sun_

  


Part One of Five

  


Chapter One: Something You'll Never Forget

  


By: Gabi-hime (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

  


Spoilers: The end of Angelic Layer TV

Pairings: Misaki/Oujiro, Shuuko/Icchan, Tamayo/Koutaro, Kaede/Sai, Ringo/Clary, although primarily Misaki Oujirou and Kaede/Sai

Rating: PG – Insert clever comment here :P

Synopsis: Four years after the third National Angelic Layer tournament, the grand circuit deuses of Angelic Layer finally leave their fields of gold.

-------------------------

Her hands were loose on the chrome handles, clammy and slick and she wobbled threateningly as she jarred over the cobblestone, feet turning one after another in a nervous progression as she strove to keep herself going fast enough so that she wouldn't pitch sideways into a wreck of twisted metal. How had she gotten herself talked into this? It wasn't worth it, wasn't worth risking life and limb. She couldn't do it. It was too hard. It was too scary. She hunched over despite herself and made a miserable little sound.

  


"Misaki-chan, relax. You're too tense. If you don't relax you're going to explode."

  


At least he was there, a firm hand on her shoulder and another hovering at her waist, a security blanket to save her from the terror that was meeting the pavement while going at least three miles an hour.

  


"Misaki-chan, are you listening to me? Misaki-chan, you have to watch where you're going, we're headed right for . . . "

  


She dared to open her eyes a fraction and found a very large cherry tree almost upon her. Without thinking, she let go of the bars and threw herself backwards, knowing in her heart of hearts that it was too late and that she was facing her own early death at the hands of a park monument.

  


At the last moment she was thrown roughly to one side and found herself tumbling end over end in the grass on the other side of the paved path. When she finally slowed to a stop she found herself thrown half across Oujirou's chest as he breathed heavily from the exertion. She chanced a glance back at the homicidal tree and found that it was now several feet away from her. Oujirou had thrown them a good two yards away and into the safety of thick grass.

  


She sang a silent praise to the fact that she was still living despite the best attempts of the tree and scooted off of Oujirou's chest, not only because she was wearing a skirt, but also because he seemed to have difficulty breathing while she was sitting there.

  


Free of her weight on his chest he rolled over on his side and with a little consternation managed to sit up. He let out a deep breath and brushed some of the grass off of himself and then turned to look at her.

  


"Misaki-chan . . ."

  


She felt phenomenally sheepish as she followed his line of vision until it intersected with the wrecked bicycle, wheels still spinning impotently in the air. 

  


"Yes, Oujirou-san?" she asked, voice tiny.

  


"It would help if you didn't keep your eyes closed the entire time," he laughed and she relaxed. At least he wasn't _angry_ at her over their tumble.

  


"Ah, about that, Oujirou-san . . . I've decided that I really don't want to learn to ride a bicycle after all," she attempted to laugh just as he had but it came out remarkable nervous and wavering.

  


He quirked an eyebrow at her, "No fibbing, Misaki-chan. I'm not your grandmother or your grandfather, fortunately for me."

  


She struggled to hold up her already transparent ruse, "Really, Oujirou-san, I mean, it's not _that_ important . . . "

  


"Misaki-chan . . ." this time there was a bit of reproof in the tone.

  


She collapsed under his probing and admitted miserably, "I'm scared of the bicycle."

  


"Well, I imagine you're more frightened of the ground and the trees than the bicycle itself," he braced his hands against the ground and stood, dusting himself again. He picked a few strands of grass out of her hair and then offered her his hand.

  


She looked at him for a beat and then had to smile to herself. They were out incognito today which meant that he was wearing mirrored sunglasses and atrociously mismatched clothes and she was wearing her hair in pigtails gathered at the nape of her neck. Today, a few days before her seventeenth birthday, they were out not as celebrities but simply as Misaki and Oujirou and he was attempting rectify what he saw as a major oversight in her childhood education. When she'd agreed to his gentle prodding she'd had no clear idea how nerve wracking learning to ride a bicycle would be.

  


Still, it was relaxing to be out of the public eye. When they'd left the Angelic Layer company this morning they'd both switched trains four or five times, doubling back in an attempt to throw off any would-be followers before finally arriving at the small, out of the way park where he'd promised to give her lessons. He'd even turned his phone off (against Icchan-san's orders, she imagined, since he was supposed to be on call at all hours) so they wouldn't be disturbed during this learning experience.

  


The peace of the remote park was refreshing. They seemed to have so little time to themselves these days. Her mother was the Queen of Angelic Layer, the reigning benign matriarch. Icchan-san was the father of Angelic Layer and Oujirou was both the Prince errant and the layer's greatest teacher. After many years of consistently refusing the title of Princess because 'it just didn't seem to fit,' Icchan had finally settled it and formally dubbed her Angelic Layer's Grand Champion, since she could no longer be seriously called the Miracle Rookie, having been a deus (and a champion) for nearly four years. Together they were what the press enthusiastically referred to as "Angelic Layer's Royal Family," and they always would be, no matter what miracle rookies might appear from the ranks in the future. They were a fairy tale that the press would never tire of, or so it seemed at least.

  


As if their status as royalty wasn't enough to busy them, Misaki had a heavy workload at school that seemed to do nothing but add to her stress without providing anything concrete in return besides more opportunities for autograph sessions. Oujirou had recently finished his accelerated pace masters in experimental sciences at Toudai, but Misaki's hopes that a formal graduation would grant him a bit more spare time to spend with her had been dashed in recent weeks when he'd been completely tied up in what he and Icchan would only refer to as "the secret project."

  


Between secret projects, autographs, honors convocations, and guest appearances, they'd had little time for any exchange that didn't involve the winged headsets that seemed almost permanently attached to their heads.

  


Misaki sighed and not for the first time desperately wished that their "quiet time" did not involve something physically draining and potentially dangerous. She leaned forward and took his hand and he helped her up.

  


"It's not as bad as you think it is, Misaki-chan. You shouldn't worry about it so much," he reassured, hand lingering on her back, ostensibly to brush a few more grass strands away, "After all, I'm here to catch you."

  


And he was. He was also there to take the brunt of the fall for her. She bit her lip as she caught the slight jump in his movements as he rolled the muscles in his back in preparation for another round. That scrape up his forearm also hadn't been there before their ill-advised tumble. Her 'education' might well end up being more dangerous for him than it was for her. After all, she'd come out of the tussle with nothing more than mussed hair and a winkled skirt.

  


So she allowed him to lead her back to the bicycle and shake it out and she climbed back onto it obediently, knowing that to satisfy him she would have to face her fears and live through what she'd missed during her childhood. The entire reason her lesson was this private so there would be no chance that her mother might catch wind of it. The last thing either of them wanted was Shuu falling into a funk over something that was past and there was no helping. Oujirou liked roasted chestnuts and Misaki couldn't ride a bicycle to the family proper, but alone they shared secrets. She was going to learn to ride if only because he cared enough to teach her, cared enough to know that she really wanted to learn, had always wanted to learn. She would manage it somehow. She just had to be brave. It couldn't be that bad, not if she relaxed. 

  


Three unhappy spills later she has seriously doubting her earlier optimism and Oujirou was sporting a wide grass stain down his back and several deepening bruises. She was still none the worse for wear. She was used to flying through the air as Hikaru, but not as herself and not without the benefit of wings.

  


"Oujirou-san?" she asked, slumping against the park bench next to him, the bicycle discarded nearby in the thick grass.

  


"Mmm?" he let out a little sigh, whether from exhaustion or contentment, she did not know.

  


"I think that life is kind of like riding a bicycle," she ventured tentatively, turning to look at him and catching her own reflection in his mirrored sunglasses

  


"It's something you never forget?" he asked wryly, mouth quirking at the edges as he peered over his sunglasses at her.

  


"No, it's more like . . . it's something you have to learn to deal with by yourself. I think if you keep diving to catch me every time I start to fall then I won't ever fall . . . but I think that I won't ever learn either. I don't want to fall, but it seems to be part of the learning. If I don't learn how to do it without the comfort of knowing that you'll throw yourself into a tree to spare me some hurt, then I'll never be comfortable enough to go it on my own," she finished quietly, averting her eyes and fidgeting as if there were no tomorrow, hoping she hadn't upset him. She knew he was only trying to help, was always only trying to help . . . .

  


His response was a long time coming, slow and quiet, and the as he shifted position his sunglasses obscured her view of his eyes, "Then you don't want me with you Misaki-chan? Do I stifle you?"

  


Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at this response and she stumbled over herself to correct him, "No! It's not that don't want you with me, Oujirou-san. I'm ha-happiest when we're together. I always want to be with you, I just wanted . . . I just wanted . . . Naa! I was only trying to figure out how to learn to ride a bicycle better!" She hadn't meant it that way! Now what was she going to do? She had to make it up to him some how . . .

  


But then he laughed and it was soft and gentle, "It's all right, Misaki-chan, I think I understand. You don't want me to throw myself between you and what might be a learning experience. I guess I can't protect you from your own life. Still . . . would you mind terribly if I kept beside you? This might put me at the risk of being involved in one of your bicycle accidents, but at least then you'll know that I'm with you. Is that too . . . stifling?"

  


She felt as if she might puddle in relief. He understood her so well. How could he always know what she was thinking? "No, Oujirou-san, that's just right. It always makes me feel better to know that you're there."

  


He took his sunglasses off absently before responding with yet another question, "And how long would you like me to be there, so I can pencil it into my schedule?" He began to fish around in his pockets, apparently looking for his datebook.

  


She looked back at her folded hands still so small in her lap. There were some things that would never change. She answered quietly, "As long as you want to be there, Oujirou-san."

  


"How about for the rest of my life? Does that sound acceptable?" he asked nonchalantly, finally finding the thing that he quested for in his pockets.

  


Misaki's eyes widened farther than they had ever widened at any point previous in his company and her mouth fell slightly slack. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? No, it wasn't possible . . .

  


. . . but it was, because instead of a datebook Oujirou produced a simple black box and flipped it open with a thumb, still as casual as could be, and somehow it meant so much that he'd asked this way, away from the cameras, the press, when he was only Mihara Oujirou and not the Prince, when she was not the Grand Champion, but only Suzuhara Misaki, third year high school student who still could not ride a bicycle.

  


She could no longer contain the tears of relief, of joy, of heady elation as she leaned against him and squeaked, "That's fine. Pencil me in."

  


*

  


The train ride back home was like a long nap in the sun. Their business for the day done, Oujirou saw no reason to overcomplicate their route home and Misaki knew that before long she'd have to face the press anyway. There'd have to be a formal announcement and an engagement party and all manner of other things before the adoring public would let them rest. The slim filigree ring on her finger would not go unnoticed for long, of that she was certain.

  


For now at least there were still a few blessed moments of peace before they launched themselves back into the whirlwind that passed for daily life. Even the train car was nominally deserted, they shared it with another young couple and a pair of children, so there was plenty of room for the partially mangled bike against the sideboard.

  


They both dozed lazily in the warmth of the setting sun. A quiet ride back from the country was the perfect sort of way to end a perfect sort of day in Misaki's opinion. She slouched against him, pillowing her head against his chest, comfortable only because of the relative desertion of the car. She was not much for public displays of affection, no matter what the doujinshi might claim.

  


As she settled down and tried to get comfortable, her face kept hitting the hard, crisp corner of something in Oujirou's breast pocket. She moved a bit to better situate herself and as she did he seemed to remember something and he shifted and pulled his cel phone out of his pocket.

  


"So, what's the verdict? Shall we reenter the world of the living?" he asked curiously, thumb hovering over the button that would reconnect them to the world.

  


She paused thoughtfully for a moment and then smiled to herself. Turning the phone on would connect them to the stress of their lives again, but it would also connect them back to their friends and family and she found that she shyly wanted to tell about the day's surprises. She nodded and he obeyed her decree.

  


They had less than two minutes of peace before the phone rang, frantic and jarring and not at all how Misaki had imagined. Oujirou answered calmly, apparently sure that it was Icchan ready to bawl him out. From the way his expression clouded seriously she immediately surmised it was not. Very little could obviously upset Oujirou, and his elder brother was not one of those things. She waited with baited breath, a thousand worried thoughts racing through her mind. What if something had happened to her mother? Or Shouko-san? What if something had happened to Miyoko-san, or to Oujirou's step-father?

  


When Oujirou finally spoke it was infinitely rattling if only because it was something that she did not expect at all.

  


"That was Sai. Kaede collapsed at the Kantou Exhibition."

  


Not Kaede. Nothing could happen to Kaede. She was summer-touched. She was everyone's mother. She was the sun's grace, so young and alive . . . _Nothing_ could touch _them_. They were too young, on top of the world. It wasn't true.

  


"They couldn't revive her on the ground so she was air-lifted to Tokyo Hospital." 

  


She could barely formulate an answer. When it came it was nothing but a lost, little-girl question.

  


"What is it?"

  


And his reply was some how more damning because he looked so lost.

  


"They don't know."  
  
*

  


A/N: You knew the angst was hiding around her somewhere. Stay tuned, sports fans.


	3. Cross My Heart

Seasons in the Sun

  


Part Two of Five

  


Chapter Two: Cross My Heart . . .

  


By Gabi-hime (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

  


Spoilers: The end of Angelic Layer TV

  
  


Pairings: Misaki/Oujiro, Shuuko/Icchan, Tamayo/Koutaro, Kaede/Sai, Ringo/Clary, although primarily Misaki Oujirou and Kaede/Sai

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Four years after the third National Angelic Layer tournament, the grand circuit deuses of Angelic Layer finally leave their fields of gold.

  


  


---

  


  


Jounouchi Sai hated the smell of hospitals. Who could really trust a place that smelled so much of anesthetic, disinfectant, and profound loss? Hospitals were like waiting rooms for the land of the dead. Even then they weren't a place of resolution and peace. They were a place of double-speaking doctors and endless waiting. It was almost as if the doctors had a certain quota of coffins to fill that they had to try to trick people into by convincing them it was "their time." Hospitals weren't a place where you went to get better. They were a place where you went to die.

  


Sai had been aware of this truth for ages, ever since Lin had been lowered into the ground for her eternal rest. She had desperately hoped that her next visit to the morticians masquerading as merciful angels would not come for years and years, if ever. She had told Kaede that she didn't want to die in a hospital, all wrapped up and bleached of color, devoid of life even before her heart monitor slowed into oblivion.

  


She had never thought, never even considered in the years since she had last been in this hospital that she would end up by the bedside of the person who had taught her to take joy in life again. Kaede was the summer sun. She'd never been ill once in the time that Sai had known her. Perhaps that was one of the reasons that she had eventually been able to get close to her. Kaede was eternal. There was no risk that she might abandon her, that she might need tending, that she might . . .

  


Kaede had never needed taking care of. She wasn't a child. She wasn't frail. She was always the one taking care of everyone else. Perhaps this was why it had been easy to take Kaede's reassurances that the headaches were nothing, that they were simply from too much stress. The Grand Circuit was stressful, there was no doubting that, and Sai had wanted to believe her. Perhaps Sai had even been playing a game to fool herself. There was nothing wrong with Kaede. There was nothing wrong with Kaede. There was nothing wrong with Kaede. Say it three times and click your heels and it's sure to come true.

  


But when Sai opened her eyes she was still standing alone in the antiseptic white bathroom that smelled of formaldahyde or arsenic or something very clean yet very wrong, hands loose and bare against the cool ceramic of the wall sink. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry. Ice Machine Sai did not cry . . . at least not in public. 

  


They'd come looking for her in a few minutes. One of them at least, Misaki probably, if she could spare herself from Kaede's bedside. No, she probably couldn't, not with managing Minoru at the same time. She'd send Oujirou instead. Sai had a few minutes to herself in the bathroom until he came. He would politely allow her a little time to compose herself and then knock deftly three times. It was his way.

  


Ice Machine Sai did not cry in public, but the people who had become her new family over the past few years knew that she occasionally cried while she was alone. Oujirou would be tactful enough to wait until Sai was ready to face everything again. He somehow always knew. It was like some bizarre sort of sixth sense which only operated to keep his gentlemanly smoothness functioning. It was uncanny, and had the situation been different she might be sharing a smile with Kaede over the fact that Oujirou was probably now politely working the lady's restroom.

  


But the situation was not different, no matter how many times she folded and unfolded her shaking hands that quivered until she firmly gripped the sink again. There was nothing wrong with Kaede. There was nothing wrong with Kaede. There was nothing wrong with Kaede.

  


That they knew how to fix.

  


It had been the same way with Lin. Those same three words had been haunting her sleep for years, giving her nightmares that she didn't share with anyone, not even Kaede. She hated doctors. They were useless or perhaps purposefully helpless. Give them anything more complicated than the sniffles and they simply shrugged their shoulders and gave up, or better yet gently patted you on the shoulder and told you to be strong because that's what she needed most, while they went back secretly to their break rooms and filled out one way tickets to the funeral parlor. They had a quota to keep after all. If they couldn't trick people into dying, then where were they going to put all the babies that they were constantly churning out.

  


Be strong for her, that's what she needs most. In those few words they'd betrayed just how little they knew about everything. Kaede didn't need her to be strong. Kaede was the strong one. She's be strong for all of them, no matter what happened. She'd be strong for Sai.

  


God knows Sai hadn't been strong for years. Perhaps she had never been. Not like Kaede. None of them even came close to touching Kaede's strength, that warm inner hearth fire that was always open to them, open to everyone who needed it. None of them had that strength, except perhaps Misaki. Sai could take whatever was thrown at her on the layer or off of it. Pain and suffering were not new to her, but only as long as they came _only_ to her. She could take it if the doctors told her that she only had two or three days to live. She could not take it if they told her Kaede had only two or three days to live.

  


She could not take it if they simply shrugged and said nothing at all.

  


It made no sense. It contradicted the unwritten laws of their lives. Life had been nothing but roses since Misaki had come into their lives. Kaede jokingly referred to her as "our lucky charm" out of her hearing and Sai had agreed. Wherever Misaki went she sorted out personal relationships and troubles and set them to rights. She had touched more people in four years than Sai could hope to in a lifetime. She was their inspiration just as Kaede was their mother. They had built themselves a beautiful little family.

  


Bad things don't happen to good people. Not more than once. Not this often.

  


Kaede had lost her mother and step-father three years ago to devastating car accident, but they had all pulled together and had handled it. It had been hard, but they had gotten through it. Kaede had adapted to living alone with Minoru, thanks to the others providing their unwavering support. Sai had simply stood silently in the background providing Kaede with something to lean against from time to time. Even mothers get tired. Sai knew her place in their family.

  


It did not involve a seat at a bedside in the intensive care ward.

  


She was so tired. She'd been on her feet for more hours than she cared to recall. The program had called for them to be at the Kantou Exhibition Grounds at five in the morning. Kaede had collapsed at two and had been airlifted immediately to the hospital. There hadn't been space for her in the chopper so Ogata had offered to drive her. She didn't even remember getting into the car, but then she was on the seventh floor, the intensive care ward, and arguing with the duty nurse over her relation to Kaede. The nurse had insisted that only family members could visit with a patient in such critical condition. She hadn't cared when Sai had furiously demanded to be allowed in, hadn't known how shocking it was to see Ice Machine Sai lose control. It had been a blessing that Mihara Ichirou had arrived on the floor just then. Shuuko had gently ushered the white-hot-cold-hot Sai away to the water fountain while Icchan explained the situation. If they hadn't been there . . . well, perhaps then Sai would be occupying a very different cell than the self-imposed ivory-tiled bathroom.

  


She flexed fingers and then cracked her knuckles. They had all come, faster than she had imagined. Icchan had seen about informing most of them, oddly serious and in control of the situation. Sai hadn't been in control of anything, she'd simply let it all happen around her as she sat, white-knuckled grip on the metal rail of Kaede's hospital bed. Kaede had not yet regained consciousness, and the doctors offered no hope, simply shrugged and offered their death sentence.

  


"We don't know."

  


Hatoko was there first, oddly. She came in and laid a hand silently on Kaede's still arm and then settled Blanche very carefully into the bed with her. Blanche. In all the confusion of the airlift and the rush to the hospital, Sai had forgotten all about Blanche and Shirahime. Of course Kaede would want Blanche. Trust their youngest to think first of how Kaede doted on her 'daughter.' Hatoko looked up at Sai with eyes too solemn and wide to belong to a child and then spoke simply.

  


"Your grief is my grief."

  


She had already prepared herself for the worst, this strange little girl too old for her years. She had offered Shirahime to Sai without reproach. Sometimes our worry will make us forget even those most precious to us. With the weight of the doll solidly in her lap, Sai felt that she should be at least a little more at peace, but no peace came. It was not that simple. 

  


Tamayo and Koutaro stood silently in the doorway, unwilling to come in and spoil the quiet moment that passed between the young guru and the elder master. They were always there, hovering at the periphery. Kaede had doted on the tomboyish girl, taught her how to dress like a lady when she chose to, taught her that it was all right to dress like herself the rest of the time. Now they were unsure of how far this hospitality extended, like second cousins at a wedding. The girl was wringing her hands, twisting something rumpled over and over, tying it in knots. Sai recognized it as a hat Kaede had given her for Christmas, knitted with her own two hands. The young man said nothing and simply averted his eyes. Hatoko put a slim cool hand on Sai's own and then spoke again.

  


"Your grief is also _her_ grief," she murmured, nodding to the angel who was curled silently in her lap, "Do not forget that."

  


Sai said nothing in response, but the girl seemed satisfied that her duty had been discharged. She stood on an empty chair to kiss Kaede on the forehead with lips that Sai somehow knew were just as chill as her hands, and then turned to go with the other two mourners to sit at the end of the hall and watch the rain come down outside. It was as if the wake had already started.

  


Ringo was next, all glitter and spangles and small chiming bells because she'd been on stage when she'd gotten the call. She had dropped everything, informed the fans that she had to go and Clary had wrapped her up in a too-long trench coat and had driven her to the hospital himself. At the concert, a sudden chill went through the crowd as the news finally reached the public. They let Ringo go without a murmur and quietly went home to stay tight by their television sets to listen for further news of Saitou Kaede.

  


The grown-up child who was Seto Ringo did not know what to do. It became clear that she was unused to dealing with situations of personal tragedy when she came tinkling into the room and could think of nothing else to do but hug Sai. Sai had not responded to this either, but Ringo had whispered warm and sweet in her ear,

  


"It's all right. Everything will be all right. You'll see. Everything."

  


Yellow brick roads and ruby slippers still existed for Seto Ringo. In fact her world was made almost entirely of them: glitter and spangles and small chiming bells. Sai felt an empty place deep inside of her where the princes, castles, and fairy tales had been. Perhaps Kaede was under a curse from an evil witch. That would explain why the doctors could do nothing, wanted to do nothing. Perhaps they were afraid of the witch. All it would take was true love's first kiss from a handsome prince and then Kaede would open her eyes again and they'd all live happily ever after. Again.

  


But Kaede had no handsome prince, and the only one they knew of had already allocated all of his kisses. Sai gritted her teeth. Ice Machine Sai did not cry in public. Certainly not in front of Seto Ringo. Clary had come to her rescue and gently led Ringo away, out to the end of the hallway where the others were waiting and watching the rain, reading two year old magazines and eating stale candy from the vending machine. 

  


If Sai thought it would wake Kaede up, she'd beg Oujirou to kiss Kaede half-a-hundred times.

  


But they had already had their happily ever after. A cute little forest spirit had rounded them all up and brought them together. Such things do not happen more than once.

  


Ogata had gone to fetch Minoru from school, sent by Icchan who still patrolled the hallway. Every once in a while he would stop and dial a number urgently on his mobile phone, and every time he would grunt and then hang up. He could no locate Oujirou, and with Oujirou was the glue that bound them all together, their beneficent spirit, their lucky charm. Suzuhara Misaki was not with them, and there was a chair standing open at Sai's left that was meant to hold her.

  


It was Shuuko who handled Minoru when he came, silent and still, with eyes as wide as Hatoko's. Sai could not do it. She did not know how. She would not trust herself with him. They had competed too much over Kaede's attentions in the early days after the accident when she had first had to be both mother and sister to the little boy. Misaki had helped bring them together, had reminded Sai that she was the adult, but she knew that Minoru had never quite forgiven her for monopolizing his sister's time, and as he sat silently in the chair meant for Misaki, Sai could hear his unspoken challenge. He had more right to be in her place. He was _family_.

  


She almost snorted derisively but kept herself in check. The last thing she needed to do was make a child cry on his sister's deathbe . . .

  


She was _more_ than family.

  


She needed Misaki. They all needed Misaki. Misaki would calm Minoru. Misaki would cheer them all. Misaki would tell them all that it was going to be all right, and Sai would believe her. Ringo's reassurance had been almost desperate, but Misaki's would ring true with her heart and soul. Misaki had proved that she could do anything. If she could reconcile Ichirou and Oujirou then she could damn well make Kaede get better.

  


Minoru watched her fumble with her moblie phone, watched her mutter Oujirou's name to the autodial, watched her knuckles whiten again on the guard rail as she listened to the rings. He watched her and said nothing, then stood and went to the window where he stared out at the rain impassively.

  


When the phone had finally connected she had been incoherent for a full minute before marshaling her will and tightening up her voice. She coolly informed Oujirou of the situation and even included the dreaded words "They don't know," without batting an eye. Ice Machine Sai did not show weakness to other people. 

  


Be strong. She needs you to be strong for her. That was almost laughable. No, with Kaede . . . asleep, Sai had to be strong for herself. There was no one else to do it for her. Sai had to be strong for everyone else, not for Kaede. If she fell apart now, then who would Misaki look to for firm and silent support while she worked her magic? Not Oujirou, certainly. He would be playing genteel comforter to everyone else. They needed Sai to be herself, to be cold, collected, and in control. 

Then suddenly Minoru had been scooped up and held tightly before being deposited again by the bedside and Misaki was climbing awkwardly into the uncomfortable plastic chair that had been left open for her, hair help back at the nape of her neck with clips but still so obviously Misaki no matter what she might try to be incognito. She gave Sai a smile and her voice, so small in the large empty room, came reassuring and gentle and suddenly Sai knew why they'd all been waiting for her.

  


"I love you, Kaede-san," she had said gently, leaning forward to tuck Blanche in a little better, "We all love you, Kaede-san, and we're waiting for you to wake up. All of us."

  


Sai had forced her eyes shut and stumbled away from the bed, toward the bathroom she knew was in the hall. Ice Machine Sai did not cry in public.

  


She cried in private where no one could see except Shirahime, who never commented.

  


Jounouchi Sai washed her face and then waited for the gentle knock she knew would soon follow. It was time and they were waiting for her. Sai would be strong for them.

  


*

  


How the hours passed, she did not know, but they passed quickly as she tended bedside, cuddled Minoru, and occasionally went out into the hallway to see how Oujirou was faring with the others. They were all still clustered at the end of the hallway, sharing hard vinyl chairs and empty small talk. Koutaro had been idly spinning the wheels of the bent bicycle that she and Oujirou had been forced to bring upstairs with them. Hatoko had fallen asleep on Tamayo's lap. It was a school night but she doubted any of them would be making it to class in the morning.

  


On one of the trips out into the hallway she'd been mobbed by some children in wheel chairs. Later she would find out that they were from the terminal cancer ward a floor up and had camped outside of Kaede's room specifically to meet her. She had given them all tired kisses on the forehead before Ringo had arrived to save the day and started handing out autographs. Misaki resolved to come and visit them next week, when all this was done with. Next week when everything was better. At the moment she could only handle comforting so many people at a time.

  


Unlike Hatoko, Minoru had not succumb to sleep, although the other girl was a few years his senior. Misaki supposed that if Koutaro had collapsed and was unconscious in a hospital bed that Hatoko would still be up, silent and watchful. As it was, Hatoko could do nothing and thus had the good sense to get some sleep while nothing was happening and she was not needed. Bless Hatoko, she was setting a good example. Perhaps the others would follow it. The last thing Kaede needed was to wake up and find all her friends passed out exhausted.

  


Of course, sleep was all well and good for the rest of them, but Misaki knew that she had to keep vigil with Sai and Minoru. It was her place to do so. They needed her there, smiling until she strained, holding her worried tears inside where they wouldn't upset anyone. They needed her assurance that everything would turn out all right.

  


She squeezed Sai's hand and then squeezed Minoru's. Neither of them reacted, but she knew that they were glad she was there, if only as a buffer between them. She was the only one in the room that talked, and she talked to Kaede at length, describing what everyone was doing, talking about anything that she could think of. Whenever she ran out of things to discuss she went out into the hallway and checked on everyone and this always spurred another thought into her head. It was her own little mantra. As long as she kept herself busy talking about something then she knew that she wouldn't break down. She knew that she wouldn't sob like a child over this woman-girl who lay asleep as if in death. Their own girl. She was the real princess of Angelic Layer, always sweet and kind and elegant, with the best manners. Saitou Kaede, their mother, summer child, sun touched. She was the warm hearth fire that would always guide them home. _Nothing_. Nothing could happen to Kaede.

  


Misaki needed some air.

What time was it? One thirty. They'd been here for hours. She stood alone in the stairwell and breathed in the warm processed air. She was so tired, her hands loose around the metal banister, so tired. It wasn't like her to be this tired. Something had stolen all her strength away. She let go of the metal bar to rub her forehead and even as she did she felt herself lose balance. It happened so slowly, her fingers splaying and reaching for the bar that was just too far away, trying to twist away from the stairs. As she peered over the edge she felt an intense feeling of vertigo. As she looked down it was almost the same as looking up, as looking into heaven. She was going to fall straight down the center of the stairwell and there was nothing she could do. Oh, if only she had wings. That would make the falling much easier, she thought nonsensically as her feet finally lost their grip on the floor and she was free in space.

  


And then suddenly she was seized around the waist and hauled roughly back over the banister, arms in a vice grip around her as if she might dissipate like the lifting fog. Dumbly she looked up. It was Oujirou.

  


"I fell," she said stupidly, blinking twice.

  


"No you didn't," he responded just as stupidly, "I caught you."

  


"I know."

  


Who knows how long their eloquent exchange might have continued had Ichirou not opened the heavy door to the stairwell and stood there leaning against it, quite ignoring the fact that it looked like Oujirou had Misaki in one of Tamayo's signature wrestling moves.

  


"Oujirou," he said shortly, "Take the Grand Champion home. She's tired. Shuu and I will handle things here. I'll call you if anything comes up."

  


Oujirou simply grunted in response and then set Misaki down gently as Ichirou turned and let the door swing shut on hydrolic hinges.

  


"I didn't say goodnight to everyone," Misaki squeaked, finally coming back to herself.

  


He squeezed her shoulder and looked away rubbing his nose as if there were something on it, "Then go say goodnight. I have to get the bicycle anyway."

  


She turned after him curiously, "Oujirou-san?"

  


Suddenly his grip on her shoulder became fierce and he turned to face her, eyes wet with tears. He quivered. She had never seen him like this, had never seen him lose his cool composure, not once in all the time she had known him.

  


His voice was low and fierce and quite lacking in the mature and elegant quality it usually carried.

  


"Misaki, please. Stay with me tonight. I _need_ you."

  


He was begging her, and there was a mournful needy note to his low, throaty voice. He was hurting so much, he was hurting and could not show it because he was the Prince. The family needed his gentle grace the same way they needed Misaki's unconquerable hope. She was the only one. She was the only one he could tell. She closed her eyes tight and leaned against him, forgetting that they were in a public place, no matter how deserted. He wrapped his arms around her and held her so tightly that for a moment she thought she might break.

  


When he let her go, he held her at arms length and looked at her. She fidgeted and turned the ring on her finger around once and then smiled weakly.

  


"Just let me tell them all goodnight. They expect me to."

  


She smiled gently and turned to go back to the rest of them, leaving him to collect their belongings and shoulder the half-mangled bike that had so recently sealed the contract of their lives.

  


*

  


  



	4. The Sound of Her Wings

Seasons in the Sun

  


Part Three of Five

  


Chapter Three: The Sound of Her Wings

  


By Gabi (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)  
  
Spoliers: The end of Angelic Layer TV, what can I say, at least I'm consistent.

  


Pairings: Misaki/Oujirou

  


Rating: PG-13 – This is a kissing book.

  


Synopsis: Four years after the third National Angelic Layer tournament, the grand circuit deuses of Angelic Layer finally leave their fields of gold. 

  


------

  


Oujirou tossed uncomfortably on the narrow cot and squirmed, trying to find the one marginally comfortable spot he knew was hidden somewhere on this roll-away bed like some sort of pitiful buried treasure. Not here, not there, it was too hard, like he was nesting in a pile of two-by-fours. Truth be told, the small bed in the spare room of the Angelic Layer Company's Tokyo test facility was not meant to provide a comfortable night's rest. It had been originally installed so that Shuuko could lie down whenever she became too exhausted from practice and had remained a fixture because his brother had found it useful for grabbing a few hours of sleep when he pulled all-nighters at the lab. Oujirou had become quickly familiar with the rock-hard consistency of the little cot upon his graduation and initiation into the Angelic Layer Company. What with the secret project, if Ichirou was not himself pulling an all-nighter at the company, then he expected Oujirou to be doing so. Oujirou snuggled sleepily back under the thin blanket. Oujirou had been so tied up in Ichirou's new marvel that he'd almost not had time for Misaki, although Ichirou still seemed to have plenty of time for . . .

  


Wait a second. There was something that Oujirou was forgetting. Something about Misaki. Well, maybe it could wait until morning. He was so tired and he knew that he'd have to be up earlier than he wanted, no matter who rang the bell that woke him up.

  


Ahh, sleep. Sleep . . . bed . . . Misaki.

  


MISAKI!

  


Oujirou only barely managed to keep himself from sitting bolt upright and possibly falling off the edge of the bed and onto the linoleum floor. Misaki, that was the reason he had been relegated to the extremely uncomfortably outside edge of the cot. Misaki was asleep between his back and the wall, taking up the only slightly comfortably place that the bed provided. When he had blurted out his unintended request in the stairwell of the hospital and Misaki had unexpectedly agreed, he had been unable to think of any other place where he could take her where they'd be alone. He wasn't about to drag her back to Kobe with him, and although Shuuko would likely not be home until well into the morning, you simply don't ask a woman to spend the night with you and then spirit her off to her own boudoir. The cot at the Angelic Layer Company wasn't the height of comfort, but it was private, and Oujirou knew he wouldn't have to deal with any scandalized queries at odd hours of the morning when parental figures arrived to check up on them.

  


So he'd brought her here, to the dim room where he'd sat vigil by Shuuko too many times. She worked herself to exhaustion only when Ichirou was not there, so it had always fallen to Oujirou to sit and watch her sleep. It was also the bed where later he knew his older brother had spent many nights dreaming of the woman who'd once slept there peacefully, cursing his own inaction and mourning her indecision. 

  


With Ichirou at the hospital and Shuuko with him, Oujirou knew that the test room would not open today. There was no one to test, after all, and no one to test them. Almost all of the Grand Circuit deuses were sitting awkwardly in the lobby of Tokyo's Second General Hospital or were sleeping fitfully in their beds after being sent home by Ichirou. The research and development team would spend the day curled up at home, waiting for a call that might devastate them all, and clinging closely to their own families.

  


They were safe, he and Misaki. Safe here because it was cool and dim and quiet and he could sleep next to her without reproach. That had been all he wanted, really. He had needed some comfort, and sleeping with Misaki close at hand where she could be present to dispel any nightmares he might have, where she could smooth his hair and tell him that it was just a dream, where she could hold his hand until he fell asleep again – that was the greatest comfort he could imagine.

  


He rolled towards her to gather her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin where it fit so easily, gently, so as not to wake her, but perhaps not quite as gently as needs be, so she would sleepily open her blue eyes and smile at him. Or blush and be scandalized. Anything really, just a beating pulse, the thrum of her heartbeat and lifesblood to assure him that she was real and flesh and bone and not some dream he had conceived of half a decade ago that he would sharply wake up from, finding that Suzuhara Misaki was just a figment that he had invented for himself to console his heart over the loss of her mother.

  


He rolled to her with all this spilling through his mind at once, as chaotic and unorganized as only a sleepy grief-stricken man may be.

  


And she was not there.

  


He almost choked, and his had darted out before he could stop it to search under the thin blanket, as if she might be hidden, although the space provided could have only concealed a being of two dimensions. But there, the bed on her side had a little warm hollow where she had been. Misaki had been there. She was no figment and he had asked her to marry him. That was reassuring. It would mean he had far less explaining to do to his parents.

  


The bed, with its lack of comfort, had driven her out of it, likely and, she hadn't wanted to wake him. He slipped out of bed, feet bare against the chill floor and banged his shin against the bicycle which leaned against the near wall. Since no one was around to hear him, he cursed quietly under his breath. Gentlemen do not use strong language, but at two in the morning and looking for his wisp of a girlfriend, Oujirou did not feel much like a gentleman.

  


He knew where she would be, had known before he'd even gotten out of bed. The door to the main room was standing slightly open, and the dim blue light that bathed the room came from there. He widened the door only enough to slip through it and padded out to where the test arena stood.

  


Misaki was sitting like a child, legs tucked under her, bare feet against her bottom to keep them warm. She was leaning forward, one hand draped carelessly over the control keys, the other propping her chin up. She had wrapped herself up in his lab coat to cut the chill of the room, and it hung around her shoulders and draped almost to the floor. Her hair was down, caramel shag hanging loose and half over the half-size headset she was wearing. He sighed gently, and she took no notice of him and he knew why.

  


Hikaru had turned to regard him the moment he'd stepped in the room, her crimson eyes noncommittal. He didn't need to circle around to the other side of the layer to know that Misaki's eyes were wide and unfocused, to know that she wouldn't answer even if he spoke to her directly. Misaki tranced into Hikaru deeply, deeper than any of the other deuses when she let herself go fully. She tranced so completely and with so little effort that Ichirou had invented a new scale just to measure her sync on. Oujirou glanced at the readout on the main monitor – Sync Ratio 99.9999872%. He was not surprised. Oujirou knew that Misaki had a habit of trancing into Hikaru when she was upset and felt she needed guidance. Hikaru seemed so confident and in control that it was understandable. When Misaki was like this, there was no talking to her.

  


But perhaps it wasn't Misaki he needed to talk to right now. He settled down in the other chair, his chair, and produced Wizard. Hikaru watched him without comment and then turned back to doing what she'd been doing before he'd come into the room – that is, staring at the ceiling.

  


His hands played lightly over the keypad and as he settled the headset on gently he murmured, "I've always loved you on that bed of roses."

  


Wizard went in with a flick of his wrist just as the mist cleared and revealed the field of roses that required a special clearance code to unlock even here in the test room. Ichirou's codes were fortunately not all that difficult to decipher, since his master code seemed to be 'nyororo.'

  


As Wizard landed, Oujirou deliberately lost himself in the feel of the breeze on his face, on the tight, controlled shift of his muscles, on the casual grace of his step and almost at once he had tranced into Wizard. It was always so easy with Misaki there. You didn't have to struggled with it, it just came.

  


She was standing ahead of him, eyes intent on something far above her. He almost wondered whether or not she'd noticed him, so he closed the distance between them and prepared to gently lay a hand on her shoulder.

  


She spoke before he could move, as if she'd been waiting for him, "Have you ever wondered how high the sky goes?"

  


He raised an eyebrow impassively and then looked up, "Well, this particular sky goes about twenty feet into the air and then hits reinforced steel." 

  


Misaki-Hikaru looked at him and it took only one word of reproach, "Wizard."

  


He shrugged and crossed his arms absently, "Even the sky doesn't go on forever. The troposphere goes about ten miles up, the stratosphere another twenty, the mesosphere another twenty, and then you're in the thermosphere. It goes on for another three hundred miles, and then you hit the exosphere, which eventually merges with the planetary gases of space. You'd know that if you paid closer attention in class."

  


She shook her head and spread her arms wide, back curved into a smooth arc so she could better regard the heavens, "I didn't ask you how far the atmosphere went. I asked you how high the sky went. You can tell me how deep the Pacific Ocean is, but you can't plumb the dept of the sea. It's different. It's the core of the thing, the idea, you know? Not the thing you can find on the map."

  


"Well, you're feeling remarkably philosophical tonight. If you had already decided on the answer, then why did you ask me in the first place?" he asked dryly. Oujirou quirked a smile. Wizard was always so serious.

  


A bare smile played over Hikaru's face and then Misaki-Hikaru said, "To see what you'd say, of course."

  


She hopped lightly away from him and began to play an imaginary game of hopscotch on the ground, going first forward and then backwards, skipping different numbers as she ran through the sequence quickly, like it was an old friend.

  


"And what did I say?" 

  


"What I expected you to say," she laughed softly as she continued to skip, "You can't measure heaven, because if you could then you'd know how far you'd have to go to get there. And you can't know that."  
  
Trust Hikaru to come up with her own uncertainty theory.

  


"Then you can't get to heaven?" he baited and she knew it and he knew that she knew it.

  


She laughed again, "Of course you can. Anyone can touch heaven, if they believe. If you believe, then you can do anything," she skipped backwards, and as she did he felt himself sigh inwardly as the soft snow wings burst from her back and in the same movement she took to the air, where he could not follow.

  


"Your problem is that you don't believe, Wizard," she chided gently, "I've explained it to you in as many ways as I know how, but you have to believe, and you don't."

  


She was so beautiful in the air, even more beautiful than she was on the ground, like a warm star in the sky.

  


"I believe in you."

  


"How can you believe in me if you don't even believe in yourself?" she asked quietly, folding her arms over her chest and hugging herself as she spun, propelled by the wings of her faith.

  


Here on the layer, she was unknowable, so many steps above all of them. She was an angel, silver-soft and warm sun-red, the queen of heaven, a strange title for a girl who could fit in the crook of his arm. She was gentle, warm, and comfortable, but she held the mysteries of the universe comfortably in the palms of her hands and attempted to guide him like a shepherd with a particularly stubborn sheep. She was Beatrice and Virgil and perhaps Charon all at once, a guide to the living and the dead and she was spun of moonshine and grace and laughter, and god, he loved her more than he loved his own life, more than he loved the world.

  


She banked in the air and then came down, diving like a swallow, wings folded close as she spiraled down and he wanted her, wanted that grace, wanted her secrets, wanted her spark, ached for her to find some fascinating mystery in him the way he longed to unravel the mysteries of her soul, unravel them or get tangled in them, safe forever in her gentle embrace.

  


She slipped by him easy as a whisper, and his hand shot and claimed her wrist and she dragged him with her into the air. She was surprised by his move and shimmied and shook, trying to break his hold.

  


"Not that way," she grunted from the exertion of keeping the both of them in the air at the same time, "You can't cheat."

  


"You don't have faith enough for the both of us?" he asked, clinging gamely to her hand even as she squirmed against him in the air.

  


"I do, but that wouldn't be fair," she explained gently, prying his fingers loose, "to you."

  


He let her loosen his fingers and leaned backwards into the fall. Her eyes were beautiful, crimson, expectant, even though he'd fallen heels skyward countless times before, pondering her secrets as he counted the seconds until he left a scar in the field of roses.

  


But then suddenly he was only half, there, only half falling, and he was staring back up into sad crimson eyes, but he was also staring across the layer into a pair of cobalt blue eyes that were locked with his own. She was crying.

  


And he suddenly knew that she was crying for him. That they were crying for the both of him, he who could not believe because he played by the rules and knew them so well that he could not think of contradicting them, of breaking them, and the one that sat curled in the deus chair, tight and so in control of his emotions that he dared not let the slightest breath escape him, grace and elegance but so little life behind it that he seemed like a prince from a story – all pomp and circumstance but no feeling. In the end he would marry the princess because that's simply the way things were done in a happily-ever-after. 

  


And as he fell backwards and felt the wind sing in his ears and saw her eyes, crimson and blue like the endless sky, he felt the wings burst from his back a moment before he plowed a furrow in the field of roses.

  


He sat up slowly and rubbed his head, wondering if he had any broken bo – oh, that was silly.

  


She alighted close to him and then sighed a little breath that turned into a laugh, "Of course they'd be black."

  


"Why of course?" he demanded, rolling forward on his knees as he shed rose petals. He stretched them and looked behind himself and verified that they were in fact black.

  


"Even when you're touching heaven, your image is too important to you not to have some effect," she rolled her eyes as she giggled and flipped backwards, catching herself on her wings.

  


It was his turn to offer a one word remonstration, "Hikaru."

  


But she didn't listen, simply kicked off into the air again, "I'm sure they'll appreciate it," she called back over her shoulder.

  


"Who's 'they'?" he asked coolly, folding his arms over his chest again.

  


"Why, all the other women, of course. Who else is your image for?"

  


And then he was after her, a shower of soot black feathers left to mark his passing. He caught her, arms tight around her waist even as she squirmed against him again. As they spiraled forward, spinning from the counter-momentum, he murmured into her hair.

  


"Maybe you should tell them that I'm going to be a married man."

  


And he kissed her with the pent up frustration of five years of watching her sport about, unable to catch her, unable to know those wings, to feel them. He kissed her the way he wanted to kiss Misaki, but was too shy, too afraid he'd startle her with his passion, with his devotion. He kissed her like a man possessed, and she bent gently back into his arms and didn't squirm, didn't fight him, but let herself be held, small and fragile as a doll.

  


He was so lost in it, in that being himself and yet someone else, his other self, that he almost didn't feel her hand on his arm. And she was there, headset still on, his lab coat still hanging lopsided from her thin shoulders. She crept into his lap and curled up, knees against her chest and nestled her head against his neck.

  


"Misaki," he murmured gently, and there were no honorifics between them, no sweet little -chan and no distant adult -san. It was the way he'd always wanted to be with her, private, close so he could feel her little bird bones and hear her little heart which he knew was beating perhaps even more rapidly than his. Gently, he pulled the headset from her head and laid it back on the control panel and then did the same with his own. He stood, arms loosely cradling her against his chest and they watched Hikaru and Wizard fall back to the layer like stars and land in the thick cushion of the rose petals.

  


His steps were silent, bare feet on the linoleum, and he was sure that it would end quietly, until a little Hikaru shone through in Misaki and she kicked her feet lightly and squirmed a little.

  


"Next time, Oujirou, next time you have to promise that it'll be a better bed."

  
*


End file.
